


meanwhile the world goes on

by reservedseat



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Bonding, Forgiveness, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Post-Canon, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29487489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reservedseat/pseuds/reservedseat
Summary: Do you have to forgive in order to love? Or do you have to love for forgiveness to be possible? Yoosung and Jihyun find out together.
Relationships: Kim Yoosung & V | Kim Jihyun
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	meanwhile the world goes on

**Author's Note:**

> “Maybe forgiveness is just that. The ability to admit someone else’s story. To give it to them. To let it be enunciated in your presence. It’s your job not to flinch.”  
> — Lidia Yuknavitch, The Chronology of Water

> Hello Yoosung.

> I was wondering if it might be at all possible for us to meet up.

> Jumin told me you had been struggling to find new hobbies so I think it would be fun if we spend the day making art together!

> Could you meet me at 3:30PM? Would that be alright?

> I hope to see you soon.

They say a tragedy brings people together, but Yoosung thinks it tears people apart. He thinks this because he can't look at Zen without remembering how Rika liked to play with his hair. He can't look at Jaehee without remembering how fond Rika was of her. He can't look at Saeran without thinking about what she did to him. The others probably think this too because there is an inevitable drift between them. Everything hurts, and everything links back to Rika.

Yoosung groans, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. He throws off the sheets and lays there as the heat pours in through his open window. 

_“This is hard enough for Jihyun.”_ Jumin had said.

 _It’s hard for me too,_ Yoosung thought, but he didn’t say it. He kept quiet, knowing that the sadness he was feeling was the wrong kind of sadness for his cousin. Knowing that Rika wasn’t really his to be that kind of sad over. She belonged to Jihyun, Saeran and the other countless number of victims. They were the ones people felt bad for. Yoosung was just Rika’s cousin. Nothing more.

He lies there staring out his window. He stares hard. Thinking that if he keeps looking hard enough, maybe the pieces of the world would fit into something he could understand.

/

Yoosung hesitates. He exhales and prepares, wiping his clammy hands onto his jeans, his head bowed like a boxer about to go into the ring. He knocks once, twice, and then a third time for good luck, on Jumin and Jihyun’s shared apartment. Yoosung silently thanks the universe for Jumin suddenly being called into work so he won’t be there for their little ‘bonding activity’. He cannot stomach the way he looks at Jumin, the way he acts like a loyal dog. He hates how someone like Jihyun could find someone that loves him again. It isn’t fair. None of it is.

He hates Jumin for putting Rika’s apartment up for sale. It was cruel of him to try and erase all traces of Rika and it left Yoosung feeling betrayed. What if there was a dropped pencil in there or a single strand of blonde hair or the imprint on the sofa where Rika used to sit? What if there was a single atom of the air Rika used to breathe in there?

The sound of the door opening shakes him out of his revere. “Oh! Hello Yoosung, you came!” Jihyun exclaims and Yoosung digs his fingernails into his palm to stop him from wincing at the surprise in his voice.

“Yeah, well, not like I had a choice.” Yoosung responds, a little more roughly than he intends to, toeing his shoes off by the door, as he brushes past Jihyun. He just wants out, wants this to be over so that he can go back to his dorm and live out the rest of his days playing LOLOL until dawn. 

The shades are pulled down over his huge windows. Jihyun must have noticed Yoosung glancing at the windows because he strides over and snaps open the shades. He makes his way over to Jihyun, stepping over all the books on the floor and the haphazardness pieces of broken brushes. There's a rolled canvas propped up against the wall and so many tubs of paint. His hands are not splattered terribly with paint but there’s a couple faint smudges that linger on his pale skin. Jihyun scoops up a bunch of papers from the sofa and piles them on the coffee table. “There, that’s better.” he said, patting the space beside him. “Come sit down.” He seems nervous, smiling too much and fussing over little things.

Yoosung’s fingers tighten around the insides of his hoodie’s pocket. “This doesn’t mean anything by the way,” he says. “I’m only here because Jumin made me come.”

Jihyun jerks his head in a nod. “Right.”

Yoosung stares at him, as if trying to gauge whether he really understands, then makes his arduous way to the sofa before sitting down heavily. 

After a few minutes, Jihyun stands up. “Coffee?”

Dishes clatter as they're set in the sink and Yoosung lets out the breath he hadn't been aware that he'd been holding. He takes his time to examine the apartment. Geometrical patterns cover the surface of the rug. Turkish? Or maybe, Iranian? Black and white photographs of, what Yoosung assumes are, hands which are so close up they look like the landscape of a planet. The vague smell of lavender, orange and… cat food? There’s a blue velvet chair to the right of him. The seat is worn, but the back is bright because Jihyun always leans forward when he sits there, towards the easel in front of him. He knows this because Jumin loves to bicker about his bad posture in the group chat. 

_Seriously, can’t they just use the private message function?_

Portraits and paintings line nearly every inch of white wall. Next to the TV stands a large wooden shelf covered with music records. On a table in the corner was a lamp Jihyun had made by burying a lightbulb in the middle of a goldfish bowl full of green sea glass. He takes one look at the framed photograph next to it — it was probably taken in London because there was a few of those black taxis in the background, Jumin was leaning his cheek to rest on the top of Jihyun’s head, they both look young and so happy — before ripping his eyes away like it burned him.

He decides he’s had enough and pads into the kitchen. He watches Jihyun bustle around. He grinds the beans and uses a French press to brew two cups. For all the class of his coffee making process, the two mugs he pours the coffee into are mismatched and chipped.

“This is really good,” Yoosung gushes at the first sip.

“Aha, you think so?” Jihyun stands by the counter, stiff and unsure. “To be honest, I don’t really like coffee that much, I prefer tea.” 

Yoosung eyes him over the mug, nursing it between his hoodie covered hands, until he feels a warmth rubbing against his leg.

He kneels down in front of the exceptionally fluffy white cat as she sticks her nose curiously into his face. “Hey you,” He scritches the top of Elizabeth the Third’s head. “I still haven’t forgiven you for messing up my keyboard.” Elizabeth nuzzles his hand and purrs softly which Yoosung takes as an apology.

"Woah, is Elizabeth alright?” He says, running his hands along her sides, “She’s getting kinda fat."

"Nooo!" Jihyun swoops down and scoops up Elizabeth the Third in his free arm, grunting a little with the weight. "She's perfect. She's beautiful. Don't tell Jumin she needs to lose weight." He presses his face into her stomach lovingly and she makes a threatening sort of noise in response. "She's the perfect pillow."

"If you want a pillow that's gonna scratch your face off, sure." 

They stand there for a while, not knowing what to say to each other. 

“So,” he clears his throat uncomfortably. “Do you have anything in mind that you wanted to do?”

“No...” Yoosung stares at his own hands curled around the cup of coffee. “I don’t really have any hobbies, besides gaming.” It’s not that he hasn’t tried to participate in activities. It’s just that when he does find something that interests him, he ends up gaining an unhealthy obsession, which leads to it affecting school and relationships and then eventually he loses interest. The barista society, the astronomy club, the knitting group etc. The cycle just repeats over and over.

They’re silent for a moment, then out of nowhere Jihyun starts to speak in a fake reporter’s voice, pretending to hold a microphone out to Yoosung. “So tell me, Mr Kim, what fascinates you about video games?” 

Yoosung crosses his arms over his chest and gives him a look.

“No. Really,” he says. “I want to know.”

Yoosung has no idea where to begin. His brain flicks through all the possible answers: attractive visuals, teamplay, simple concepts, profile levelling etc. “Maybe… I don’t know… I think it’s just that I like to be in control. In the game, I can change what I look like whenever. I can build things anywhere I want to. I can communicate and connect with people all around the world.” Yoosung inhales sharply. “There’s no illness or death... Well you can die but, like, you can just respawn. There’s nothing to worry about.” 

He’s still staring into his cup, because he has a feeling he isn’t making any sense and that Jihyun might be laughing at him. But when he glances up, he sees that he isn’t. He's nodding.

“I like that.” He says.

“Really?” Yoosung gleams. He stiffens suddenly, mouth thinning to a line, like he’s remembered that he isn’t supposed to talk to Jihyun like this. He still hates him, he’s still angry and Jihyun isn’t about to win him over by getting him to open up. Yoosung stares at him for another second, trying to see if he really meant it but then he sees that his eyes were wet with tears. 

“What is it?”

He wipes his eyes and tries to put on a smile. “I don’t know,” he says, laughing a little bit. “Everything, I suppose.”

And right then Yoosung feels his heart soften to Jihyun.

/

Jihyun crouches down on his floor in front of the turntable. “Hey,” he calls, holding up a record. “How about this?” 

Yoosung stares. That was Rika’s song. He was stealing Rika’s song right in front of his eyes. 

The Ghost trio was a secret between Yoosung and Rika. Just the two of them. They didn’t even need to look at each other when she put it on. They both understood. She had taken him to a concert at a beautiful church and told him to close his eyes and listen. 

“It creeps up on you, doesn’t it?” she’d said. “It lulls you into thinking it’s harmless, and then all of a sudden, boom, there it is rising up all menacing. Rattling of chains, shrieking of instruments. Then just as fast it backs down again. See, Yoosungie? See?” She sat in that church, trying to make sure he understood the music. “See?” she said again.

And Yoosung did see. At least he thought he saw. Or maybe he only pretended he did, because the last thing he ever wanted was for Rika to think he was stupid.

The Ghost trio was a secret between Yoosung and Rika. Or so he thought.

“No thanks.” Yoosung says.

“Do you not like Beethoven?” he says, looking at it the way one would look at a hurt bird. “I guess he is sort of, as the kids say, overrated.” 

Yoosung rolls his eyes. “So where’d you hear that? Who showed you the song?” He was waiting for him to say, “Rika,” and then he’d say, “I thought so.” 

Jihyun sets the record back into its position on the shelf gently. “My mother. When I was a child, she would always play it for me. When- If you come round more often, I’ll show you some stuff.”

Shame fills Yoosung’s chest. “Oh,” he says, not looking Jihyun in the eye. “I guess it’s just not my kind of thing.” Not only shame but sadness, because he wasn’t part of Rika and Jihyun’s world but also because there were things about Rika that weren’t Rika at all. What if everything he loved about Rika had really come from Jihyun?

“Fair enough.” Jihyun says, settling on a stool. “Have you ever made a tape sculpture?” 

“No, never.” Yoosung mumbles through the bobby pins he’s holding between his teeth, “I’ve never done anything artsy.” He admits, pulling his fringe back to rest on top of his head and sliding the pins through.

“Mm, I did once when I went to art school.” Jihyun blows a strand of hair out of his face. Yoosung hates how both their hair is almost the same length, hates how similar they are in some ways. Is this how Saeran feels whenever he looks at Seven - no, Saeyoung? 

“Here,” Yoosung removes the hair tie on his wrist and holds it out to Jihyun. “You can use this.” 

He stares at it like he thinks he’s going to suddenly lunge at him, his eyes wide and face pale. He doesn’t know why but it makes his chest hurt — Doesn’t he trust me?— And then it hits him. There’s something making his mouth taste sour, and pinpricks rise all over his skin. Does he remind him of Rika? Do the others think of Rika when they look at him? The realisation should make him ecstatic but it doesn’t. His heart stutters and plummets. 

So Yoosung holds it out to him and waits until he gathers himself and takes it. 

“Thank you.” Jihyun smiles, closing his fingers over the band, keeping his hand over Yoosung’s for a moment too long, that anxious expression disappearing from his face, before tying his hair back.

He makes a mental note to chop off his hair when he gets home. (But he’ll keep the blonde, it’s the only thing keeping him tied to Rika.)

“So you, uh, you went to art school? I didn’t know that...” He grabs the box of cellophane and turns toward Jihyun, unravelling the roll and bringing it up to his head. It suddenly occurs to Yoosung that Jihyun knew all kinds of things about him, while he knew next to nothing about him. It doesn't seem fair. Not at all. Every time he thinks about it, about Rika and Jihyun talking behind his back, Yoosung feels a hot surge of anger in his chest.

“Thought you just went to some pretentious private school.” 

“Pretentious! Me?”

“You have a _French press_.” Yoosung deadpans.

“Hey! That’s Jumin’s, not mine!” Jihyun huffs. “And I already said I don’t like coffee.” 

“I went to art school for a while, I dropped out quickly because it was- Ah ah!” Jihyun inches away from Yoosung before standing up, “You do not start with the face.”

Yoosung steps back startled before regaining his composure. “Uh okay…” he crouches and starts to meticulously wrap the cellophane around his foot working his way up to the calf. “How many rolls of cellophane do we have?” he asks.

“We have four.”

“Hmm, is that gonna be enough?” He says, wrapping the material around his thigh.

“What do you mean…?” He says, tilting his head. “Oh, Yoosung.” Yoosung’s hand still for a moment, that playful tone reminds him so much of Rika. “You’re not even done with my leg yet and you’re 'don’t think we’ll have enough!’” Jihyun continues, mimicking him, and Yoosung has to bite his tongue to stop himself from lashing out.

“Ugh, how many layers do you need for this?” He says through grit teeth, wrapping the cellophane around his chest and moving to work on his arms.

“Just one? This isn’t what’s going to be the end result, this is just to protect me. This is not- wait what about my other leg?

Yoosung’s face flushes as he realises. 

“I’m gonna get there!”

“But you were already down there! You didn’t even let me teach-”

“Shut up! _Shut up!_ Just let me do it. I’ll figure it out, I’m not a kid.” Yoosung tries hard to keep the anger out of his voice and drops to his knees.

Jihyun chews on his lip, “Sorry, sorry if I ever treated you like a child.”

Yoosung shakes his head vigorously. “I’m here because I have to be,” he sighs. “Just - leave me alone and we’ll be good, yeah?”

Jihyun clears his throat enough to get the words out. “Got it.”

He shouldn’t have expected anything, but it still hurts.

Yoosung decides he may as well get some answers out of him since he’s here. “What’s the real reason you called me over for?” 

“Because we need to fix this,” Jihyun answers, gesturing vaguely to the two of them as much as his cellophane-wrapped arms would let him.

“There’s nothing to fix,” Yoosung argues gruffly.

“Yes there is. We’re a mess.” Jihyun sighs, biting his bottom lip.

“You don’t get to talk, Jihyun,” He spits out his real name for the first time. “You lied about my cousin’s death and then disappeared for two fucking years.”

Jihyun’s breathing is ragged, like the air was stolen out of his lungs and left him starving. 

“From what I’ve heard, you didn’t exactly socialise much either, Yoosung.” 

“None of us were very good friends.”

Yoosung rises from his position on the floor, securing the cellophane around his arms and shoulders. 

“It must have been hard,” Yoosung murmurs, discarding the empty roll of cellophane and reaching for another box. “Keeping it all to yourself. Being all alone.”

Jihyun takes in his handiwork before his gaze flickers up to desperately meet Yoosung’s.

“You must have had a hard time.”

He stares at him, taken aback by the sincerity in Yoosung’s tone, by the tender way he’s looking at him. Jihyun’s lower lip trembles. He tries to stop it, but the lump rises in his throat until it’s too painful to bear, and no matter how much he blinks he can’t halt the flow of tears.

It was hard, It was so hard, but for the longest time Jihyun has felt like he isn’t allowed to think that, not when everything must have been so much harder for Yoosung, for Jumin, for Saeyoung. For all of them. He draws in a shuddering breath.

It was hard, trying to move on from his mother’s death and the injuries left by Rika took so long to heal. It was hard, and somewhere along the way Jihyun turned into a person he hated. He did a lot of things he still regrets. Getting to where he is now - his eyesight returned, a gentle lover, his only real vice the pack of cigarettes in his pocket - feels like the biggest accomplishment in the world. But at the same time, it has never felt like enough.

It was hard, and Yoosung sees that. Yoosung sees him.

So Jihyun cries, bumping his chest against Yoosung’s and bending his arm at an awkward angle in an effort to bring him closer, to hold him. 

“Um, this is not a hug.” Yoosung croaks out.

“I know.” Jihyun knows this, he knows that the only reason Yoosung is throwing his arms around his neck, resting his chin on his shoulder, is to finish wrapping his back. For once in his life, Jihyun finds himself wanting to be wrong.

/

“When you’re done, it should hold its form, like a crustacean’s shell… Need any help with that?” Jihyun asks, an amused look on his face.

“No, I got it, don’t worry.” Yoosung fiddles with the tape, searching for the end of the roll.

“Of course you do.” he says, trying to keep the teasing tone

Yoosung throws him a look over his shoulder. “Shut u- Alright!” He cheers, hooking his fingernail under the edge of the tape. He walks in circles around Jihyun as he wraps the tape around his head.

“Is any of my hair uncovered?”

“No, you’re fine. I got you.” Yoosung murmurs. He pretends not to notice the way a smile slowly starts to spread across Jihyun’s face. 

“Okay, I think that’s it,” Yoosung announces, placing the tape back inside the dispenser. “Do I cut you out now?”

“Yes, from the back, so I can step out of it.”

Yoosung carefully starts to snip starting from his head down to his lower back.

“Are you excited to see the outcome of your masterpiece?”

“Not really,” Yoosung drags the scissors along the back of his shoulders and then moves to his arms.

Jihyun suddenly shouts and Yoosung pulls away immediately, ready to apologise and assess the damage, when Jihyun’s eyes crinkle. “I’m just joking!” he chuckles, “I’m sorry, Yoosung.”

Yoosung collapses, resting his arms on the seat of the stool and burying his head in the crook of his elbow. “Don’t- That’s not funny!” He whines.

“Yeah, that was mean. I’m sorry.” He says, still laughing. “Here,” he motions for Yoosung to hand him the scissors. “I’ll do the rest, you can take a break.” Jihyun reaches behind him, pulling the tape over head and down his body, stepping out of it like a butterfly escaping its cocoon. “Ta da! There he is!” 

In Jihyun’s hands dangles a transparent ragdoll-like replica of himself.

“...Oh my god.” Yoosung wails, shaking his head, his voice muffled by his own hands covering his face.

“It’s great for your first try! You should be proud.” Jihyun assures him, positioning the sculpture to sit on the stool, where it instantly slouches.

“It doesn’t even stand up straight!” he complains.

Elizabeth the Third pads into the room to see what all the commotion is about, when she encounters the cellophane abomination she hisses and tries to swipe at it. “See? Even Elizabeth hates it!” Yoosung cries.

“Well I love it,” Jihyun says, trying to console Elizabeth (and Yoosung). “Are you going to give your creation a name?”

“No, I don’t want to.” Yoosung responds curtly, tearing his eyes away, to which Jihyun gasps and clutches his chest in mock agony.

“Not even a name? Oh how cruel!” 

Yoosung can’t help but giggle, “I’m bad at naming things. I remember when Ri—” he cuts himself off, his eyes lowered.

When can he say her name and have it mean only her name and not what she left behind?

“I blamed you,” he whispers, he takes a deep breath, forcing himself to make eye contact with Jihyun. “I blamed you and you let me. Why?” 

Jihyun gently lets Elizabeth down as she slowly crawls to Yoosung, she protectively places a paw on his knee, never taking her eyes off the sculpture, before joining him on the floor. “I decided to let you believe it. I didn't mind. If it made you feel better, I should let you believe it.”

“But—” 

“Let it go, Yoosung. It doesn't matter anymore.” 

But it _does_ matter. The truth matters. It isn’t right for Jihyun to take all the blame when it could have been either of them. When it was nobody’s fault.

“Why did you-”

Jihyun levels him with a soft look, his expression pained but earnest. “If taking the blame made things easier for Rika, and you, then that’s what I wanted to do. Now let it go, alright?” He turns his face away from him, then turns back. “I know how much you loved your cousin. And please believe me, I did too. I loved her to pieces.”

“Love”

“What?”

“Love, not loved. We can still love her.”

Jihyun raises his head. “Of course we can. You’re right.”

Yoosung's head feels as if it’s filled with every buzzing creature on the planet. He wants to turn to wax and melt away. He wants to erase every wrong cell of his body. “No, no no no,” he shakes his head, unable to look at Jihyun anymore. “I shouldn’t love her, she’s not a good person. She doesn’t- I shouldn’t love her.”

He curls in on himself and cries like his heart is being ripped out of his chest. Jihyun grabs Yoosung’s shoulders. “Yoosung. It’s okay, Yoosung. You can’t help it.” He cradles his neck, leaning his forehead into his. “I understand.”

Jihyun holds him close, always able to make Yoosung feel like a child.

/

Jihyun saunters back into the room with a polaroid camera, “Let’s take a photograph with him!” 

Yoosung grimaces and shakes his head repeatedly.

“Come on,” he coaxes, dragging the sculpture’s left arm over his shoulder. “It is his birthday after all.” he sing-songs, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Ugh fine,” Yoosung grumbles, stomping his foot, not unlike a child, and pulling the other arm of the sculpture over his shoulder.

He isn’t sure how to pose. He glances at Jihyun through his peripheral vision and sees that he’s smiling so he decides to go with his standard pose, raising his index and middle fingers to make a V sign and smiles.

_Click!_

_Click! ___

__

__

Jihyun waits for the photos to blur into focus. “So, what do you think?” 

“It’s a little weird.”

“Oh.”

“But in a good way. Like art.”

Jihyun’s smile had faded but is now back full beam. “Yeah. Like art. Just like art.” He looks at Yoosung like he thinks he is the smartest person he’s ever met. “You can cut me out if you want. There’s some space between us. I don’t mind.”

“It’s okay,” He says. “I wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Well, it’s your copy, so if you change your mind…”

“I really wouldn’t.”

__/_ _

__Yoosung observes himself in the bathroom mirror. The blonde in his hair seems so dull to him now and even his roots were starting to grow out. He picks up the scissors on the edge of the sink, they’re just regular scissors because he doesn’t own any professional ones. Maybe he should have asked Zen, but Zen hasn’t cut his hair in a long time so he wouldn’t understand._ _

__He cradles the scissors in his hand and takes a deep breath, inhaling through his nose. Until the ball in his chest grows heavier. Until his chest aches inside. Until it hurts. He breathes it all out until he feels like there is nothing left inside of him._ _

__His phone buzzes, several times, on the counter._ _

__The first thing he notices is that Jihyun has changed his profile picture to the photo of the two of them with the sculpture. “Lame,” he snorts. He taps on the notifications and is instantly greeted with a photo of Elizabeth napping comfortably on the lap of the awful creature he birthed that afternoon. The corners of his mouth tug upwards. Yoosung scrolls down to read the next messages.__

> Looks like Elizabeth warmed up to her new friend!

> Jumin suggested we should name him Augustus but I told him we should respect your wishes!

> I was thinking, if you want to come round for another session, we could try painting with some watercolours?

> Only if you want to, there’s no pressure!

Yoosung sets down the scissors and reaches for the black hair dye in the cabinet instead.

> Yeah, sounds good.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write about Yoosung and V getting along (or at least, try to) but i also wanted to write about loving someone you know you shouldn’t. How do you deal with wrong love?
> 
> V would definitely make wacky sculptures all the time like spencer from icarly !! Also i know nothing about tape sculptures, i just chose it because it would force them to be in close proximity so i watched a youtube tutorial and just went with it :P
> 
> Come hmu on [ tumblr](http://jaeheelovebot.tumblr.com/) or [ twitter](http://twitter.com/morenaprudo) :D


End file.
